


Parachute

by unchartedstars



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempt at Humor, Kang Yeosang-centric, M/M, Post-Break Up, Pre-Relationship, mentions of past yeosang/omc, not between seongsang though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unchartedstars/pseuds/unchartedstars
Summary: In Yeosang’s 21 years of life, he’s felt like he’s fallen in lots of different ways.He fell, literally, when he was eight years old and learning to balance on his bike without training wheels.He fell, romantically, when Kim Jinwon asked for his number amidst drunken laughter and the shitty dubstep shaking a run-of-the-mill house party last year.And now, he’s falling metaphorically. He’d been lounging around in the private jet that was his early twenties, in love and unbothered and completely unguarded until reality decided to unceremoniously shove him out the emergency exit and send him careening thousands of feet towards an untimely death(or, Yeosang gets his heart broken, but a new face makes him think maybe it's not the end of the world.)
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	Parachute

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i haven't posted anything in over a year??? wow lmao. i'd like to start posting again, though, I do have some wips that deserve to see the light of day if i can motivate myself to finish them! 
> 
> for now, here's something quick and lighthearted that I wrote because some rare inspiration struck me. hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, Yeosang feels like he’s falling. 

Not literally—he means this in the angsty, metaphorical emo-bands-of-the-early-2000s way. 

“Yeosang? You good?” 

Wooyoung’s giving him that look. Not _That Look_ , which is very different (as shown by the deliberate capitalization) and usually means death is imminent. Nah, he’s giving _that look_ which is much softer but somehow more dangerous because it usually means he wants to talk about, like, feelings or Yeosang’s mental and emotional wellbeing or something equally annoying. 

In an effort to deter said conversation, Yeosang shelves his _I’m falling_ metaphor and lands a light punch against Wooyoung’s shoulder. In a very convincing voice that could potentially belong to someone emotionally stable, Yeosang placates, “I am just… uh. Nift...y.”

Well, fuck. 

“Nifty?” Wooyoung’s eyebrows are furrowing, time to backpedal. 

Yeosang nods and stands to gather his books together, “yep! I am the niftiest I’ve ever been, so nifty that I think I’m done studying!”

Wooyoung’s staring at him, which probably means Yeosang’s Master Plan to Appear Okay is ultimately failing. 

“Yeo,” Wooyoung starts, and oh _no_ he’s wearing his _I’m-prepared-to-love-you-to-death_ expression, Yeosang really needs to abort mission. Who told him it was okay to leave his bed and interact with other people while he’s like this? 

(He told himself that, coincidentally, when Wooyoung offered to study with him after three days of radio silence, because Yeosang is an idiot.)

Once he has all of his things haphazardly thrown in his bag, he gives a quick salute (a _salute?_ jesus-) and starts backing away from the table, rushing out a goodbye and mentally making a note to text Wooyoung later and try to convince the other that, despite the evidence piling up, he hasn’t lost his mind. 

It’s not until Yeosang is exiting the library and trudging in the direction of his apartment that he returns to the whole _falling_ thing. 

Now, in his 21 years of life, he’s felt like he’s fallen in lots of different ways. 

He fell, literally, when he was eight years old and learning to balance on his bike without training wheels. 

He fell, romantically, when Kim Jinwon asked for his number amidst drunken laughter and the shitty dubstep shaking a run-of-the-mill house party last year. 

And now, he’s falling metaphorically. He’d been lounging around in the private jet that was his early twenties, in love and unbothered and completely unguarded until reality decided to unceremoniously shove him out the emergency exit and send him careening thousands of feet towards an untimely death. 

Dramatic, perhaps, but what other way is there to describe being dumped without explanation the week before finals?

Dumped _without explanation_ might be a bit of a stretch, he’ll admit. Jinwon had, in fact, given him an explanation. It’s just in Yeosang’s humble opinion that the explanation is a shitty one. 

Because, really, who says _I think I might be in love with you_ and _by the way, I’m studying abroad in London for my final year and might not come back_ during the same conversation? And who follows that shit with _we should probably break up now, give it a clean ending_? 

“Clean ending,” Yeosang mutters as he clutches the straps of his bag and kicks a wayward stone out of his path, “maybe for you, stupid wannabe British _asshole_ -”

“That’s a pretty creative insult. I give it a 7/10.”

Yeosang startles, kicking at another stone and sending it flying straight into the shin of whoever decided to scare the shit out of him. 

“ _Fuck-_ okay! Not a fan of jokes, got it- _ow,_ ” the mystery stranger is bent over and clutching at his leg, hissing out a pained breath. Yeosang winces and shifts closer to him with an embarrassed apology on his lips. 

Then the stranger looks up, and- okay. If Yeosang wasn’t currently soothing his cuts and bruises over a wasted year with his dumb ex-boyfriend, he’d probably hit that. 

Respectfully, of course. Not literally like he did just now. 

“Sorry about that, I was kinda in my own head. You okay?” That sounds apologetic enough, right? Hopefully this guy isn’t gonna wage war over a measly stone, because that would just be the cherry on top of Yeosang’s already fucked up week.

The stranger doesn’t look mad, though, just studies Yeosang for a moment before giving him a smile that loosens something in Yeosang’s chest. He shoves that realization away to be analyzed at a later date.

“I probably shouldn’t be sneaking up on people like that, anyways, so why don’t we call it even,” a hand reaches for Yeosang’s, “I’m Seonghwa.” 

Yeosang takes it after a moment’s hesitation, “Yeosang. Nice to uh… meet you, I guess.” 

Another smile… yeah, Yeosang’s gonna need Seonghwa to stop doing that when he’s busy trying to sulk about lost love and all that. 

They stand there in a bout of silence that’s broken by Seonghwa asking, “So who were you dragging earlier? Something about British impersonators, or…”

And if Yeosang hasn’t opened up to his best friend about what exactly is eating him up inside, then he sure as hell isn’t going to pile all of his romantic pain onto the shoulders of a literal stranger. Who does Seonghwa think he is, some kind of sexy fairy godmother (and actually, that’s probably the worst thought that has ever been developed by Yeosang’s brain, he needs to escape underground and live out the rest of his life like some exiled mole person-)

“No offense,” is Yeosang talking right now? Wow. Look at him taking control, “but it’s kind of... a lot and I don’t really know you so…” 

Way to lay down the law, Kang, now if you can just sidestep this living statue and his stupid jawline-

Seonghwa smiles again (dammit), softer this time (goddammit), and stuffs his hands in his pockets, “You never know, an impartial third party could be just the right person to lend an ear.”

Okay, just gotta be firm: “I really don’t think-”

“You ever been to the cafe near the first-year dorms? I’ll buy you coffee.” 

At the mention of free caffeine, Yeosang figures it’s best to accept defeat now. Maybe he can finesse an Americano out of this rogue runway model and stealthily escape when he’s not looking. 

**\----**

Yeosang does not, in fact, finesse an Americano and escape with his secrets locked away and his pride intact. 

Rather, Yeosang accepts an Americano from Mr. High Cheekbones and settles across from him at a corner table inside _Silly Beanz_ (and what kind of name is that? As a marketing major, he’s nothing short of appalled). Nothing is said for what could be seconds or possibly minutes, and Yeosang takes refuge in the silence long enough to collect himself and somehow not burn his tongue on the first sip of his drink. 

Then, “You know, usually when a random person attacks you with a flying rock, your first instinct should be to leave that person’s vicinity as soon as possible.” 

Seonghwa snorts, “Is that what we’re calling it? Pretty sure I accidentally scared you with my witty sense of humor and you just happened to have really insane reflexes.” 

Well then. 

Yeosang huffs and slumps down in his seat, and pointedly doesn’t look at Seonghwa. He stares down at the steam swirling around the rim of his mug, remembers how he used to stop by Jinwon’s apartment just to shove a to-go cup into his boyfriend’s hands before he left for his night class. He used to text Yeosang complaining about falling asleep every lecture because statistics is boring and shouldn’t be taught past 4 pm. 

So much for all of that consideration--doesn’t look like Jinwon was ever keen on returning the favor. 

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa is looking at him curiously, expression open and warm. 

Another sip of his drink. A sigh. 

Alright, he’ll bite. 

“You ever been to London?” Yeosang wraps his hands around the mug, lets the warmth leech into his palms. 

Seonghwa tilts his head, takes a sip of his latte. “Nope, never really been on my list. Not a fan of rain.”

Yeosang lets out a bitter laugh, “Well, my boyfriend apparently _loves_ rain.”

He watches the word _boyfriend_ register on Seonghwa’s face, pretends he doesn’t see the way his expression crumbles a little bit. 

“He must love it so much,” Yeosang continues, “that he decided he’d rather spend his final year and maybe the rest of his life drowning in London’s stupid rain. Because that’s where he’s going.”

“Ah-”

“Actually, that’s not really the shitty part. I’m not a dick, I’m happy that he loves London and its dumb trolleys and big clock towers or whatever. No, the shitty part is that he didn’t even _tell_ me he loved all that! We dated for a year and yet I had no idea he wants to move out of the fucking country? What else didn’t I know?”

“Well-”

“And to top it all off, he decides to break this to me before _finals week!_ As if I don’t have a million things to be doing. And no, there’s no conversation about how we might make this work, or how I might be feeling about this news. Nah, he decides to end the conversation with ‘Let’s break up.’ No discussion, no checking in on where my head’s at with everything. He just wants to break up after an entire year together so that he can travel to fucking _London_ with his hands wiped of any obligation back home.”

“Man, that’s-”

“It just feels like so much of this situation is missing, like some big conversations were supposed to have happened before we got to this point where he’s fucking off to wherever and leaving me behind. I should’ve been part of that process, of us deciding what exactly we were gonna do. And if it was breaking up, fine! Whatever, but I feel like some stray cat who got pushed out the front door. Stupid asshole couldn’t even bring me to a shelter or something, did you know he doesn’t even _like_ animals? What kind of-”

A hand nudges against his own, and it’s at that moment that Yeosang realizes he hasn’t taken a full breath in at least a minute. He cuts himself off and stares wide-eyed across the table at Seonghwa, who’s just watching him with a sad frown. 

Embarrassed isn’t quite the word to describe how Yeosang feels--ready to slam his head against the nearest wall sounds more appropriate. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, “I’m sorry. I know you bribed me with coffee and everything, but I really shouldn’t be laying all of that on you.”

Instead of vaulting from the table and leaving Yeosang to suffer in his own company, Seonghwa just shakes his head and plants both hands flat on the table. “What kind of cookies do you like?”

What?

“Uh, chocolate chip, but-” Seonghwa doesn’t let him finish, just stands up and walks back over to the register where a display case of baked goods resides. 

Yeosang briefly considers whether the laws of physics might do him a solid and open up the ground below him, putting him out of his misery. 

A minute later there’s an extra-large chocolate chip cookie sliding across the table on a napkin. He glances up again and catches yet another smile, much more subdued than the others, on Seonghwa’s face. Yeosang’s eyes burn and he feels his bottom lip tremble just a little bit and _nope_ we are not doing that here, not in front of a hot stranger in a place called _Silly Beanz_. Yeosang has to hold onto some of his dignity. 

Seonghwa, apparently, is not only extremely attractive but also an angel (and who let that happen? Whoever it is, fuck you), because he doesn’t force Yeosang to say anything after that. He just sits with him and daintily sips from his probably lukewarm latte while Yeosang restrains himself from scarfing this cookie down because _holy hell_ this place might need a new name but the chocolate chips are warm and melting on his tongue.

It’s only after most of the cookie is gone that Yeosang wrings his hands together and mumbles out an apology for his emotional outburst. 

Seonghwa shakes his head, “I’m the one who offered you free coffee and a strings-free confidant. I’m just sorry someone is that stupid to do something that shitty to someone like… like _you_.”

Yeosang raises an eyebrow, “like me?”

A new emotion flashes across Seonghwa’s face. What is that, constipation? Pain? Wait-

“Are you embarrassed?” Yeosang stares at him questioningly, “What do you mean by ‘like me’?”

For a split second, Yeosang thinks maybe the tables have turned and now Seonghwa is the one at risk of ducking down and escaping, never to be seen again. The flush on his cheeks is certainly new, after how smooth he’d been up to this point. 

Finally, a defeated groan slips past Seonghwa’s lips and he slides down his chair an inch or two. He takes another gulp of his drink, which has to be cold by now, and holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, so I might have seen you walking across campus all angry and kicking up stones and thought _wow, who pissed off a guy like that?_ And by that, I mean, well. You’ve probably seen yourself.” 

“Uh,” Yeosang starts. Then he just furrows his brows.

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “You’re really hot, okay? I went over to you to maybe flirt, ask you out or something. I wasn’t expecting you to have just been dumped, and now I feel bad because it’s gonna look like I had weird ulterior motives now that you know.” 

And, okay. Alright. Yeosang replays the last hour or so since he met Seonghwa, allows himself to accept the signs he’d picked up and dutifully ignored. 

He tries to cover up the way his ears are probably glowing red with a falsely confident smirk, and crosses his arms. 

“So,” he says, trying to contain his laughter, “you thought you’d try to be the rebound while I’m heartbroken? Take advantage of my emotionally fragile state and ply me with coffee and giant cookies?”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen at the accusation, hands waving in front of him as he starts rambling, “No! I would never, honestly, I just thought maybe you had a shitty day and I’d make you feel better-”

Yeosang cuts him off with a snort, which quickly devolves into disbelieving giggles. He wraps his arms around his middle and just laughs for what’s probably a little too long before he finally looks up at Seonghwa with a bemused grin, “You’re really not as smooth as I thought you were.” 

The blush spreading across Seonghwa’s face has to be melting his skin by now, and Yeosang can’t help the way his smile widens, “I’m relieved. You seemed just a little too perfect to be real, it was throwing me off.” 

There’s a beat of silence, then Seonghwa is slumping forward and burying his face in his hands. His voice is muffled as he groans, “What’s even happening, right now?”

That loose, warm feeling in his chest returns. He doesn’t respond at first, just looks down at his half-finished Americano and the residual cookie crumbs left behind on his napkin. 

Would it be cliche to say he feels like someone just handed him a parachute? Sure, he’s still falling, and he still feels pretty shitty all things considered, but more in a _wow this really sucks_ way instead of a _I’m about to hit the ground and shatter_ way. 

Maybe he’ll get back home and that doomed feeling will return, but right now he’s looking at this random guy slouching against the table, who listened to him talk shit about London, England and bought him a cookie for no other reason than to make him feel better, and he thinks maybe he hasn’t experienced the end of the world just yet. 

“You’re a funny guy, Seonghwa,” Yeosang offers, his mouth settling into a grin.

Seonghwa only shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Then, “I still think your insults are pretty creative. I’ll bump my rating up to an 8/10.” 

Yeosang barks out another laugh and runs a hand through his hair. The flush on Seonghwa’s face fades enough that he looks like he wants to die just a little bit less, so Yeosang says, “You know, if you were trying to woo me or something, then I think your strategy and timing needs a little work. But you made me feel… not as bad, so. Thanks.” 

Another smile on that pretty face. Yeosang welcomes it this time. 

“I’m glad,” Seonghwa replies, “and you know, if you need someone to embarrass themselves in front of you again, I’m happy to volunteer in the future if it gets you to smile like that.” 

Great, now _Yeosang_ is the one blushing. He shouldn’t have completely written off Seonghwa being a smooth motherfucker. Maybe it’s not his default setting, maybe it’s more like a special hidden move that attacks when you least expect it. 

It’s not until after Seonghwa and Yeosang have exchanged numbers and parted ways that Yeosang decides to call Wooyoung. The sun is setting and there’s a slight chill in the air, but Yeosang can barely feel it against the fading warmth across his cheeks. 

_“Yeo? I was worried, are you doing alright?”_

Deep breath, “Yeah, I’m good. Or… actually, I’m not that great at all. Maybe I could- I don’t know, maybe I could tell you about it tomorrow?”

A pause. 

_“Of course, Yeo, anytime. Are you okay right now, though?”_

Yeosang thinks about a figure disappearing down a narrow London street. He thinks about a cookie sliding across a rickety cafe table and into his hands. 

“Yeah,” Yeosang responds, “I think I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you feel like it, i always love reading them! xx


End file.
